Get Over It
by dofunklethegrunkle
Summary: It's been a month since Stan broke up with his girlfriend. The man needs to move on, and you've got a pretty good idea of how to help him with that. Young Stan Pines x reader.


**I am back again with more smut for ya'll. God, I am such GF trash. Living up to my username...**

 **This was written based on a request received from phantombullets240, asking for Stan feeling bummed after Carla leaves him and the reader trying to cheer him up.**

 **I took it... well, just read the thing, I guess. It went a few places I didn't expect. Enjoy.**

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"Stan, this is pathetic. It's been a month. Time to join the real world," you scold irritably, arms crossed over your chest as you scowl at the mess of a man on the couch in front of you.

"Would you leave me alone?" he snaps, glaring right back at you.

"No," you say harshly. "Look at you. It is 3:00 on a Tuesday afternoon and you are sitting on your couch wearing a t-shirt and boxers. You need to pull yourself together."

He stares at you. "Would you get out of my apartment?"

" _No_."

Admittedly, he has good reason to be mildly depressed and a little touchy. But you always thought guys bounced back quicker from breakups than girls, and the fact that Stan is still moping around a month after Carla left him is more than a little concerning to you.

Stan rolls his eyes and groans, slinking lower in his seat. "I don't know why you keep coming around here. It's not like it's made much difference."

You let out a scathing laugh. "No difference? Please. A week ago we were having this conversation when you were wearing nothing _but_ boxers. I consider this a big improvement." You cross the room so you're standing over him. "Now put on some pants and come down to the Juke Joint. It's time to start living your damn life again. Jan says you can come back to work any time, and we've been short staffed all week."

Not to mention you miss working with him. He's the only person you've ever worked with that can always make you laugh and feel better about your generally shitty life. Not that you'll ever let him know that.

"I don't want to go back to the Juke Joint," Stan grumbles. "What if Carla…" he trails off and lets out a noise of pure frustration.

"Nobody's seen Carla since she ran off with that hippie weirdo," you mutter, a little sore. Carla had been your best friend for the last several months, a companion to gossip with while you cleaned the back room or locked up the diner. When she'd started dating Stan, the guy who got a job with you a few months earlier you'd always had a bit of a crush on, you'd been forced to live vicariously through her, hanging on every story she had to tell about him.

Some of those stories had made you more than a little sexually frustrated.

"She could come back."

"She isn't coming back, Stan!" you burst out furiously, sick of everything. Sick of his whining over a girl who has always actually been a bit of a bitch. Sick of wanting him every freaking minute you spend with him. Sick of hearing him pining for a girl who has never been all that worth his time. "She's gone! We are never going to see her again and you're going to have to damn well live with that, and come to terms with the fact that sometimes shitty things happen and there isn't anything we can do about them!"

Your outburst has the desired effect. He's standing up, something like anger flashing in his eyes. Good. You'll take anything over that mopey act he's been pulling for the last month. "Don't pretend like you know anything about what happened!" he spits, glaring down at you. "You have _no idea_ what it's been like—"

"I don't know what it's like to be kicked to the curb?!" you demand furiously. Shit. You hadn't intended to actually get mad, but you are now. You're shaking, you're so pissed off. How _dare_ he say you know nothing about how hard it's been for him?! "I don't know what it's like to give my heart to someone and have them stomp all over it?! What it feels like to be… to be abandoned, and abused?!"

That shuts him up. You knew it would. Hell, it had been him who'd practically beat your abusive ex-boyfriend to death when you'd come in to work with a black eye and a limp. Stan had been the one to take you home with him that night and make sure you were okay, listening to you tell him how your parents had kicked you out at sixteen and the only reason you hadn't left the man who enjoyed beating you for fun when he was drunk is because otherwise you'd have been out on the streets. He had told you about how he was kicked out, too. How he'd been abandoned by his family. But he had shrugged it off as though it were nothing even when you could tell it was something, and the next day he had helped you find an apartment you could afford in his building.

How could you not have developed feelings for him after that?

And even worse, how can he now have the audacity to throw that in your face?

Stan looks slightly mortified with himself. "I… I didn't mean it like that."

"Fuck what you meant!" you shout, hating yourself when you feel tears welling up in your eyes and starting to spill over your cheeks. It has been a long time since you were so frustrated you had started crying. "You've been wallowing in all this self-pity, and I know it's hard, okay?! I know it's hard to forget when bad shit happens, and I know it's hard to move on, but you just have to fucking do it!"

"I… shit. I didn't think you were gonna start _crying,_ " Stan says lamely, reaching out a hand and trying to pat your shoulder. You shrug away from it.

"You know what, I don't give a fuck anymore," you mutter, wiping at your eyes and turning towards the door. "Mope around forever. Ignore the fact that there are other girls out there who'd love to be with you. Don't go to work anymore. Stop paying your rent and get kicked out. I just don't care."

That's a hell of a lie. You do care. You care so much your heart hurts. But if you're going to leave Stan be, you're going to make damn sure that you're angry when you leave. It will make things easier that way.

You march to the door and wrench it open, but just as you're about to step through a hand reaches out from behind you and shuts it again. You whirl around, preparing to scream at Stan again, but all coherent thought leaves you when he crushes his lips against yours and grabs your wrists, pinning you to the door.

His mouth is hot and fervent, and there's no hesitation before his tongue is in your mouth, exploring every facet. He nips at your bottom lip, just a little too hard, before his mouth is on your neck, stubble scratching against your jaw as he sucks and bites at the sensitive flesh of your collarbone. You let out a long, shuddery gasp. "Stan…"

He breaks away, his hands finding their way beneath your shirt to knead your hips. "You think I didn't know?" he growls lowly in your ear. "You've never been exactly subtle about the way you feel about me."

He grinds his hips into yours, and you can feel that he's half-hard already. He still has you pinned against the door. You're powerless to stop him, even if you want to.

Which of course, you don't. You want more. More of his hot breath on your neck, more of his stubble scraping against your cheek, more of his desperate hands exploring your body, more rough kisses to your skin. "So what are you gonna do about it?" you ask on a breathy exhale, arching your face up towards his.

You yelp as he grabs the backs of your thighs just below your ass and lifts you up, forcing you to straddle his hips as he moves across the room towards his bedroom door. You suppose there isn't really any other place for this to head, you think briefly as he crosses over into his room and throws you down on the bed. You barely have time to recover before Stan is on top of you again, tongue delving deep into your mouth as his hands find the hem of your shirt and slide under the fabric, up the soft skin of your belly until they reach your bra. He yanks it down just enough for your breasts to spring free and begins to knead at them, sucking at your neck again as his thumbs skim across your nipples.

You let out a high pitched noise not unlike a whine, and hear him chuckle. "You like that?" he breathes, intentionally flicking them both. You jolt, and the response is met with a low growl of amusement before he's fisting the fabric of your shirt in his hands, pulling it up over your breasts but not all the way off. He directs all of his attention to your stiff, erect nipples, tweaking and pinching them until your back is arched so far off the bed it's almost painful, and he grasps at the base of your spine, holding you there as his mouth goes to one breast, and though you try to hold it back a whimper still escapes.

You're not sure if it's reward or punishment when he nips at you, teeth dragging gently across your nipple before he sucks on it so intensely you squeal. Your other breast is still being manipulated by his free hand, tweaking and squeezing until your entire body is trembling. He shoves you back into the bed and switches breasts, taking the other in his mouth while directing the ministrations of his fingers to the breast not being licked and gently bit.

"Stan," you gasp when he pulls away, yanking up at your shirt, and you raise your hands to make the process faster. He tosses it aside and wraps his arms around you, expertly undoing the clasps of your bra and pulling it down off your arms until it joins your shirt on the floor. You reach for the bottom of his shirt, but his hands grasp your wrists, effectively halting your intentions.

"Nope," he whispers into your ear, and his hot, damp breath makes you shudder. "Not yet. First I'm going to give you _exactly_ what you deserve."

"Come _on,_ " you whine, but he grins and crushes his lips against yours again, hands moving to your waist. He moves lower, kissing the dip between your breasts, running his tongue down your belly and stopping when he reaches your jeans.

"Hm. These will have to go," he mutters, giving you a wolfish grin as he works at your zipper and pulls your jeans down. You lift your hips to help him along, and he drags them down your legs so fast the denim rubs uncomfortably against your skin before they're off completely, joining your other articles of clothing on the floor.

His hand moves between your legs, feeling your heat through your panties. His grin grows wider. "A bit excited, are we?" he purrs, pressing against you and kissing your neck. You wish he'd let you take off his shirt. You want to feel his bare chest against yours. But he was quite adamant about undressing you while he remained clothed, and though you wonder what the punishment might be if you attempt again, you're a little distracted by the way he is tugging at your earlobe with his teeth, hot breath tickling the sensitive flesh of your neck. His fingers are tugging at the waistband of your panties, struggling to slide them off.

He is not waiting for your permission, you realize. They are coming off now whether you're ready or not, and you're not entirely sure you are. You've never been completely naked while your partner remains fully clothed. But Stan is clearly in charge here, and he isn't going to compromise or reason. He's driving this, and he'll do what he wants.

So you raise your hips again, making it easier on you both as he slides your panties down and off completely. And just like that, you are totally naked before Stan Pines. You certainly hadn't expected this when you woke up this morning.

Stan sits up and you think that maybe he's letting up, and he'll allow you to start taking clothes off of him, but as you try shifting up to a seated position as well he grabs your shoulders and roughly shoves you back into the mattress. "Stay," he growls, gripping one of your ankles and laying a kiss to the inside of it.

You let out a tiny moan as his hands travel up, kneading the soft flesh of your calves and thighs, forcing your legs open a little too wide for comfort, and you almost protest before suddenly his fingers are grazing your wetness, and as one slips inside all thoughts of discomfort or protest flee your mind because _fuck that feels amazing._

You hear the sound of his low chuckling, and he buries his finger to the knuckle and twists it. You whimper. Keeping his finger in place he lowers himself over you and kisses your cheek, scratching his stubble against your jaw. "You're so tight," he breathes huskily, adding a second finger, and you moan. Stan runs his tongue from your jaw to the sensitive spot just behind your earlobe and whispers. "Makes it hard to control myself."

"God, Stan," you gasp as he leisurely thrusts his fingers in and out of you.

"What do you want?" he asks lowly, smirking. Your legs are shaking, your knees are sweating. You're right on the edge, and you know what he wants from you. He wants you to beg. And as much as you hate to beg, this blissful torture is growing to be too much to handle.

"I need to come," you squeak as his fingers thrust in again, deeper this time. Faster. "Please… oh, god…"

He complies, curling his finger up ever so slightly and rubbing that spot inside of you that makes the stars explode and your hips thrust forward into Stan's like he's shot electricity through your body, and you're falling, falling, falling off a cliff into a sea of pleasure, breaths short and shallow as you climax.

The euphoria lasts several moments, and as reality begins to take root again Stan pulls his fingers out and grabs a breast again, squeezing it more gently this time. "Good girl," he purrs, pinching your nipple.

"Fuck," you breathe, your chest heaving. That was the most powerful orgasm you can ever remember having.

"You better not be tuckered out after one little climax," Stan smirks, and he leans in to kiss you again. When he pulls away the gleam in his eyes is hungry. "Because I'm not through with you yet."

You groan, but only half-heartedly. "Can I take your shirt off now?" you plead, reaching for it again. His hands go to your wrists again, but this time they aren't gripping so tight.

He looks teasingly contemplative. "Well… you did come like a good girl, so I suppose you've earned a treat," he decides, releasing your wrists, and you eagerly tug his shirt up over his head and off him, tossing it aside and placing your palms on his chest, fingers curling in his chest hair. You want to keep exploring, but he shifts away before pushing you back to the bed again. "That's enough," he breathes, hands going to your calves. You don't even have time to wonder what his intentions are before he's lifted your legs so the backs of your knees are on his shoulders, and you can feel his moist breath over your heat, agonizingly wonderful and you just want _more_ —

When his lips meet your wetness your back flies so far off the mattress it shocks even you. He makes a low sound of amusement and grabs your hips, lowering them back as far as they can go with your legs on his shoulders, holding you in place as his tongue begins to explore. Your fingers curl into the sheets, grasping at anything to anchor yourself because this feels so good that you must surely be on the verge of floating away. You try to buck your hips but he's too strong, and instead your legs begin to tremble so violently it's a wonder your body isn't making a low humming noise.

You can't form coherent words, and as Stan's tongue slips inside, probing and digging into you, you let out a howl of pleasure. You can't believe one of his neighbors hasn't come pounding on the door with a noise complaint yet, but you can't help yourself. It just feels far too damn good, and there's no way you can stay silent. You wonder how much louder you're going to get when he actually fucks you.

Your second orgasm is more powerful than the first, and you've never heard yourself make the noise that rips from your throat as you rocket to the highest point of pleasure you can imagine – surely it can't get better than this. The noise is guttural and breathy at the same time, somewhere between a moan and a scream, and as soon as it escapes Stan's mouth is on yours again, effectively silencing you as you ride the waves of pleasure from your climax.

Stan releases your legs and sits back, watching as you recover, looking a bit winded himself. "Fuck," he mutters, grimacing. Your eyes travel down to his boxers, and you can tell he's fully erect with half a glance.

"Want some help with that?" you whisper, reaching for the waistband of his boxers, but he stops you.

"Turn over," he commands firmly, and you hesitate.

"Why?" you breathe out shakily, a little frightened all of a sudden. Turning over means you won't be able to see what he's doing anymore.

You let out a yelp as he grabs your hips and flips you over himself, pressing his chest to your back. "Do as you're told," he growls in your ear, and you shudder as his weight disappears from your back. "Ass up," he orders.

Now you're scared. He doesn't want to fuck you there, does he? You've never taken anything up there before. You're not sure you can.

Apparently the time you take to think is too long for Stan, and you feel a light smack on your left ass cheek. You jolt. Did he just spank you?! Fuck, you'd never had that done to you before. And even more alarming was that it _really_ turned you on.

He swats at you again, a little harder this time. Just enough force that this one stings. "Up," he repeats firmly. "On your hands and knees."

If you hesitate again it might earn you another smack, and while you _definitely_ want to explore that new fetish later, you're just too desperate to have him filling you up, stretching you to your limit that you finally obey, lifting yourself up so you're poised on your hands and knees, waiting. You hear the soft rustle of fabric and know he's wrenching off his boxers, and then comes the crinkle of foil and the sound of latex and you know he's putting the condom on, and the anticipation is driving you crazy.

There are his hands, firmly grasping your hips, holding you steady as he lines himself up. You feel his tip at your entrance and you bite down on your lip because god, you've waited so long for this, and then in a sudden thrust, he's in and you shout and fist the covers in your fingers, lowering your head to bite one of your knuckles. He remains still for a few seconds and you can hear his heavy, shuddery breaths as he basks in the sensation of just being inside of you.

And then he starts to thrust. It's slow at first, easing in and out of you, but the pace quickens rapidly, especially when you start moaning his name. One of his hands moves from your hips to trace the ridge of your spine all the way up to your neck and then back down. You buck your hips backwards into his, meeting every thrust, trying to help him go deeper to stimulate that sweet spot in you that you want him to reach so much. Occasionally he barely brushes against it and you let out a low keening sound.

He growls in his throat and presses down in the center of your back, forcing your chest to the mattress. You buck your hips up again, raising your ass higher in the air. He hits that most sensitive, aching spot repeatedly and everything is suddenly trembling limbs and intense waves of pleasure but he's still fucking you and it's like you're climaxing again and again and again with every thrust, and you're pretty sure you're screaming his name but you can't be absolutely certain with all the blood roaring in your ears, and you feel rather than hear his guttural moan by the deep vibration in his chest as he climaxes and collapses against you as he pulls out before rolling over onto his back, his chest heaving and his breathing shallow. "Jesus – fucking – _Christ,_ " he groans.

You flop to your stomach, in a bit of a daze after that intense session of fucking. "You can say that again."

"Why did I ever waste my time with Carla?" he mutters, and the question seems so ridiculous to you that you giggle. He turns his head to look at you. "What?"

"Glad to know a good fuck was the only thing you needed to get over her," you grin at him, rolling over onto your side so you can see him better.

"Huh. Guess you were right. Just needed to move on," Stan flashes you the cheekiest smirk you've ever seen and you nudge him with your hip.

"I'll blow you next time. Make you really forget everything," you tell him, and he groans and rolls over, burying his face in his sheets.

"Fuck me."

"Oh, I intend to," you tease, and he laughs and grabs your waist, pulling you into him and kissing you.

"Thanks," he mumbles against your mouth, and you grin and kiss him back, wondering how something finally went right. Maybe you were finally getting what you deserved after a lifetime of crap.

There will be more of these sessions. Of that you have no doubt.

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